Stoking Coals

I hate this part. The deer eyes creep me out when they move, as if it still lives, fur burning next to oak balls, bone stew, and Jeremy’s tomatoes. Smoke trails from its nostrils like steam on winter mornings. When it blinks, I yelp, same as always.

“Ritual’s started,” Tanya says. “Get the new girls.”

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Written for the 55 Word Challenge